


don’t know

by jywait



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, im sorry america
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 15:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15754314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jywait/pseuds/jywait
Summary: England knows. He has known, for a very long time now, that the looks of unbridled affection America directs him weren’t lingering feelings from his colonisation days, rather they were pure, hushed confessions of love hidden behind snarky words and charming grins.





	don’t know

**Author's Note:**

> I think this fic is my fav it really hurt me to write it  
> hmu on jywait on tumblr! id love to hear what you think!

“England!” America bounded up to him much like an overexcited dog as he grinned at England, unabashed. England carefully arranged his expression into one of dismissive neutrality. “Yes?”

“Let’s go out for lunch! There’s a new burger from McDonald’s I wanted to try out!” America said, his eyes soft as he looked at England with such devotion that England felt guilty when he had a sick, twisted, feeling of pleasure derived from the flattery of having someone who loved him so. America, oh, America. If only America knew that England knew how he’s felt, perhaps he might not be as joyful as he was now, and that was exactly why England would not deem it his right to say anything of it, lest he crushes America’s heart beneath his loafers.

“Alright,” England says, instead of what he actually wants to say, which were along the lines of _“America, don’t look at me like that, I’m sorry I don’t- I can’t return your feelings. America, I can’t take the way you look at me.”_

America smiled at his reply, so obviously delighted at England’s answer that he seemed to radiate happiness, whereas England’s guilt further sent his heart sinking into the abyss of his conscience.

England would say no, if it meant America would get over him, but it had been centuries and America’s feelings hadn’t seemed to lessen at all, rather they seemed to have intensified the longer England spent time with him. The special relationship between them seemed to be for the worst, for even as the relations between their countries strengthened, so had the feelings America held dearly for England. England was a man of his people, and should his people want it, he would not ripple his relationship with America just because the other was deeply in love with him and he couldn’t take the guilt stemmed from centuries of unspoken feelings. He would put aside both of their feelings for his people, he wouldn’t let his selfish desires drive a wedge between that.

And, England thought, watching the way America seemed to shyly edge closer to him as they walked, if it made America happy too, would be so wrong? He pretended not to notice America fidgeting nervously, pretended not to see how America seemed to psych himself up much like he did before a huge speech, and pretended that America wasn’t as nervous as he actually was. If he pretended, perhaps everything would be fine, perhaps it wouldn’t be actually true.

Delusion was a tempting out to the mess England had blindly stumbled in, and continued despite his clumsiness.

America ate the same way he loved, fast and wanting more, and the fact was etched in his behaviour, from when England would indulge him in a pat on the arm he’d ask for more, and England couldn’t resist when America gave him tender, loving looks. Gentle touches on arms turned to hugs that lasted far too long, and America’s face would be red as they parted, and while England pretended his cheeks were red for the same reason as America, that was more so a lie and a facade than an admittance of truth.

England picked at his fries absentmindedly, drifting off to times once passed, when America was but a young child who had only looked at him with platonic affection.

“Hey, England?” America called, dragging England away from his thoughts. England hummed in acknowledgement, eyes following the movement of the people outside the store. Couples milled about, and England sometimes wished he returned America’s feelings. Would it not be perfect? He wouldn’t have to deal with the uncertainty of pretending he didn’t know, and America would not have to suffer under unrequited love either. If only that could be the case, England thought dimly.

“Ah, pardon me. What is it?” America pouted, but even then he didn’t look upset, more pleasantly amused than anything.

“Are you going to eat? You haven’t touched your fries at all,” America said, gesturing to the drooping, abandoned fries in front of England.

“I’m not hungry,” England lied, he felt sick.

America frowned, concern plainly written on the blue of his eyes and the curve of his lips. “Oh. You should’ve said something earlier,” he said, frowning slightly, though the warmth in his eyes didn’t fade. England felt cold all over, why did America have to care about him so much? England didn’t want to drag and play with America’s feelings, but the alternative was too hard to bare. If not admitting the truth meant England would remain a part of America’s life, England would seal his lips. He was both his people and his own person, and both wanted America to stay a friend, stay by his side.

“It’s fine,” England said instead, “I don’t mind. If you’d like, you can have my fries,” he pushed the fries forward. America’s eyes seemed to twinkle in genuine delight, and gratefully, he started chomping down on England’s fries. “Thanks, bro!”

 _No problem_ , England thought but didn’t say, _just forget your feelings for me and stay an important person in my life._

America finished quickly, and the two of them remained where they were, unmoving. England was fully prepared to leave the second America had finished, but reading America’s body language made him remain in his seat. America seemed nervous, tapping his fingers on the table in a hurried, unrhythmic fashion. The tension between them drew taut akin to the same ones they had felt after the revolution, where they spent bitter years in constant tension. America was growing red, and vaguely, England had a feeling what was going to happen.

America swallowed visibly, a bead of sweat falling from his cheek, and his eyes met England’s, and England was startled by the anticipation and fear in them.

“England,” America started, clearing his throat, “you know tomorrow is Valentines, right? I was just wond-“

England stood up. “I’m sorry, America, I have to leave now,” he said, mustering whatever courage he had lost whenever America looked at him, “My boss is calling,” he continued, breath hitching slightly when he saw the raw hurt in America’s eyes, his utter remorse only intensifying when America’s eyes dimmed, and he looked at the table. America’s fist were clenched, and he looked angry at himself. England was sorry, but the conversation was heading in a direction England didn’t want it to, and continuing on would mean admitting more than he wanted to be put out there.

“Really sorry,” England added in a pathetic attempt to relieve both of them, him of his heavy conscience and America of his being upset.

“Nah, it’s alright. I know what’s it like,” America said, beaming, even though his smile didn’t reach his dull eyes. “I’ll see you next time?” America said, also standing up to leave.

“Next meeting,” England clarified, he didn’t want to meet America outside of meetings or lunch right after meetings, for it would seem too much of a date, and he did not want to intentionally lead the other on.

“Oh. Alright, bye then,” America said, waving him off. England nodded curtly and left, only turning behind when he thought it safe to do so, and seeing America with his face in his hands only made his heart and throat clog up.

England walked faster.

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment if you’d like! unrequited love is so nice...


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